


Leave the Money and Run

by thalialunacy



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with the bank robbery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave the Money and Run

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Violence towards the boys.  
>  **Dedication** : To jazzy_peaches for her birthday. This is how much I love her. Because I promised, and if she can jump into a frozen lake repeatedly, I can damn well write some Pinto. :D  
>  **Disclaimer** : I don't know these people and I don't claim to; I'm just trying to make people smile. Also, I'm completely ignoring the whole Zach-has-a-boyfriend-and-lives-in-New-York thing.  
>  **Notes/Inspirations/Sources/Etc** : Taken loosely from an aaaancient [prompt](http://1297.livejournal.com/48143.html?thread=3311631#t3311631). One quote from _Wonderfalls_. A joke from the [Sassy Gay Friend](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwnFE_NpMsE&) series. One quote from _Gross Pointe Blank_.

"I thought once you did a movie with Clooney, you didn't have to do menial labor anymore."

"What?" Chris is only half-listening.

Zach waves a hand at the ATM. "Don't you have minions to do this for you?"

Chris shrugs, punching at buttons. "Probably." He pulls out the bills and receipt and card and stuffs everything into his wallet. "But it's much more fun to torture you with it."

"Charming."

"You know it." He gestures towards the door. "Coffee, stat."

"We must away," Zach agrees serenely.

Chris punches him in the shoulder. "None of that shit, we're in public."

"And you have a reputation to uphold."

Chris nods, holding the connecting door between bank and ATM alcove open. "And I have a reputation to uphold."

But Zach's not paying attention. And Chris suddenly sees why.

Guns. Big guys with big guns and not in a gay porn way, but in a distinctly unsettling life-flashing-before-your-eyes way.

"Oh, fuck," Chris hisses, and he yanks Zach back into the alcove and down gracelessly, all his stunt training gone to shit in the light of the _fightorflight_ pulsing through his veins.

He's much more comfortable with flight. Those were big fucking guns.

After a few moments of nothing, of silence and pained breathing, it seems the guns aren't going to come bursting into the room and take them out.

Chemicals recede enough for Chris to take stock of the situation. They just need to wait it out, he decides. Yeah. Everything will be fine if they just stay the fuck put.

He pushes at Zach, who somehow landed half on top of him. "Off, you fucking huge ass queen."

Zach looks down at him, an eyebrow cocked. "You're the one that pulled me down on top of you."

He pushes again, shaking his head with a grin. "Sorry, Quinto, you're not my type. Your genitalia are on the _outside_." He pats Zach on the top of the head. "But I know you're going to keep _pining_ for me." Zach groans, pained by the pun, and begins to roll away. "It's okay. Understandable, even."

Zach settles into what looks like a yoga pose, legs pretzeled, and sighs. "Jerk."

"Douche."

"Cunt."

"You are what you eat."

"Jesus Christ, we're about to die and you're making pre-pubescent heterosexuality-asserting jokes?"

"We're not going to die, comebreath. These guys are hacks. The cops will be here soon."

But Zach doesn't look so sure. And it turns out he's right.

Because the cops don't get there soon. The psychos with guns must've disabled the security system and declared hostages in order to negotiate monetarily.

"Well, this fucking sucks," Chris says succinctly. "I was supposed to be getting laid tonight."

"Oh will you shut the hell up? I am more and more convinced every day that the only reason you have an English degree is because of your skill at cunnilingus."

"My advisor was male."

"I rest my case."

"Ooo, sassy."

Zach's lips quirk. "Look at your life. Look at your choices."

Chris full on laughs.

Later, he'll blame himself for that laugh, not Zach. Never Zach. Just his stupid, loud, _stupid_ laugh.

The connecting door slams open and sweaty air assaults them. Sweaty air and a huge guy with a huge gun.

"Hey, we got two more!" the dude yells back into the main room. Another dude comes jogging over, smaller gun in hand. But from the way Dude #2 is eyeing them, calculating, Chris has the feeling Smaller Gun Guy is actually Big Leader Guy.

Which is confirmed when he speaks. "Excellent. Money in the bag. Keep 'em here."

Dude #1 looks confused. "How so?"

The leader makes an exasperated noise. "You seriously don't watch anything but the UFC, do you? That one--" He gestures with his gun at Chris. Chris tries not to flinch. "--is a total movie star. He was Captain Kirk, for fuck's sake."

Inexplicably, this makes the goon unhappy. He strides up to Chris and backhands him. It stings more than a little.

The boss just rolls his eyes. "Alright, not a fan. But that doesn't mean you get to damage the merchandise. This guy's gotta be worth a ton."

He turns to Zach. Chris feels his gut clench with certainty that he knows what's coming. "That one, though… All he's done recently is stage work and indie flicks. He's not worth the effort."

"Hey, fuck you," Chris snaps reflexively, then reels at his own stupidity when the guys' focus is back to him.

"Oh, really?" Leader Guy says, sounding genuinely curious. His eyes flick to Zach again, and he nods once, and his goon takes the hint. The crunch of fist into Zach's jaw is loud. Chris doesn't flinch. Zach's a strong guy with fight experience, he can take a hit.

So: "Yeah," Chris says back defiantly. He looks the guy straight in the eye. "Fuck you, you power-hungry lazy asshole with daddy issues."

He hears Zach groan something that sounds like it should be 'Shut the fuck up' but he ignores it. He just knows he has to keep their attention on him. Stall. It works in the movies, right?

He almost laughs again, but then there's a gun in his face. "I'm the lazy asshole? You probably have people that wipe your ass for you."

"Only on Tuesdays."

Ow, a pistol whip hurts just as much as he'd always thought it would. He hears Zach make a strangled noise, and wants to make a reassuring sound in return but fucking _ow_. It's going to be a minute.

But then he doesn't have a minute, because the goon has apparently been given another signal and is suddenly attacking Zach with a measured strength that has Chris's blood roaring.

"Fucking-- asshole, _stop it_. What the _fuck_."

The Leader Guy just looks at him over the barrel of the gun. "Oh, I’m sorry. Something on your mind?"

"Oh my fucking god you're a psychopath."

"Psychopaths kill for fun, I kill for money." He says it almost absently, watching as Zach loses consciousness and the meaty guy keeps swinging, knuckles red.

"I'll give you money, you motherfucker!" Chris pleads, his voice shot through. "I _have money_."

That has the guy snapping to attention. "One would suppose you do, yes."

"Listen, just--" Chris is pulling at his pocket, yanking at his wallet with visibly shaking hands. "--my ATM card, take it, my pin is 6763, my savings--take it all, I don't care--just--" The blood starts a steady drip out of Zach's lips. "Just fucking stop."

The guy cocks his head at him. "You really give a shit, don't you?" He sneers. "Fucking Hollywood, secret city of fags."

Chris is shaking his head, his eyes stuck on Zach's ripped skin. "No, asshole, it's not like that. It's just--"

But he can't think any more, his brain, his mouth, his chest too full of _Zach_. Of Zach's giggle and Zach's carefulness and Zach's poetry and Zach's _going to die_ and Chris can't think of anything worse _fucking ever_ \--

Then the guy swipes the card out of Chris's hand, breaking Chris's revelation wide open. He nods and the flunkie lets Zach's skull drop with a sick thunk. "Fine." Then he lifts the gun and points it straight at Chris's chest.

Chris's eyes widen, and he'd resign himself to it if he had the time. He'd realize, yeah, he'd do this for Zach. Only for Zach. If he had the time. "Thanks," the asshole says, then he pulls the trigger.

The shot reverberates in Chris's ears long after he hits the ground.

\---

It's still ringing when he wakes up. His head feels filled with sand and his body is pleasantly numb. Useless, but not alarmingly so. He remembers what happened, and therefore is totally okay with the narcotics.

Slowly, other sounds filter in. Bleeps of monitors. People murmuring. The sound of a foot tapping restlessly.

He tries to open his eyes.

"Oh, baby!" His mom's voice is full of tears and relief and he tries to look at her, he really does, but all he manages is a small smile and a twinge where her hand is gripping his like a vice.

"'m--" He starts to speak but everything's so dry it just doesn't happen. He licks his lips, lets her give him a sip of water, starts again. "Fine, I'm fine. Where's--" His gut twinges. "Zach, where's Zach?" His eyes are open now, but everything's still fuzzy

His mom shushes him, her other hand soothing his forehead. "He's fine, baby. He's pretty beaten up, but there's no permanent damage."

Chris breathes in a little easier. "Go back to sleep, my love." At his mom's soft encouragement, he lets his eyes droop shut again.

\---

The next time he wakes up, the room is empty. Not surprisingly, he manages to reason; everybody has jobs and lives and pets and responsibilities.

Then he notices the Atwood novel on the bedside table. He smiles, sure he can smell a little bit of patchouli in the air, and gives up the reins to sleep once more.

\---

"Oh my god I'm fucking starving."

Okay so it's not the most graceful post-trauma line ever, but whatever, it's the truth.

His mom laughs from nearby, and he feels her push his glasses into his hand. He puts them on, still clumsy from drugs but not too bad, and suddenly the whole thing seems about eighteen times more real.

He got _shot_. He got shot and gave some psycho his pin so that Zach wouldn't get the living shit beat out of him but he's _alive_. They're both alive. They're both alive and Chris knows now that that's all that he needs and really it's tragic he's still too doped up for life-affirming sex. He ostensibly looks and smells like shit, too, but those are minor details.

And everybody else is ignoring said details, anyway. They're all crowded around his bed, Mom, Dad, Katie-- and Zach, thank fuck. And if the look on Zach's face is any indication--Jesus, Chris had always thought it was an _act_ ; he's a fucking _idiot_ \--Zach would not say no to life-affirming sex. After chewing Chris out--totally eloquently, of course--for being such a life-risking fuck in the first place.

But that'd be just fine with Chris. He wouldn't change any of it.

Well, except the hunger. He turns pleading eyes on his mom.

She laughs again. "Fine, fine. We'll go get you something to eat."

"In N Out?" he says hopefully.

"You wish, you miscreant." And with that, she sweeps her husband and daughter out of the room. Katie, the wench, tosses a wink at Chris on her way.

He stares after them, gaping.

"I like her," Zach says thoughtfully. "She uses big words."

"I wasn't raised by idiots, it's true. I'm no monkey boy."

"Sure, but you're still an idiot," Zach mutters.

"Shot!" Chris protests. "Not my fault!"

Zach rolls his eyes. Which are red-rimmed, Chris notices. Guilt pokes at him. "How the fuck are you so dapper, anyways? That guy made you into steak tartare."

Zach shrugs, spread out his hands in a gesture. "No hematoma, no skeletal damage. Luckily. I was really, really lucky."

Chris knows that's not at all true, but he doesn't correct him.

"They got all your money," Zach says carefully.

"I don't care."

"They cleaned you out, Chris."

"I said I don't fucking care."

Zach gives him a Look. "And I said you're an idiot."

Chris shrugs. Which causes a blossom of pain in the area of his second right rib and he sucks in a breath.

Zach is immediately up and beside the bed. "Like I said," he says softly. "Idiot."

Chris looks up at him.

"They--" Zach's fingers curl around his wrist. "They showed me the video. Turns out the cretons didn't dismantle the surveillance, they'd just disconnected it from transmitting."

Oh.

"Okay," he says, kind of glad he didn't have to make a speech.

"And you're an Oscar-worthy actor."

And Chris can't stand the look on his face. "No." Zach's eyes meet his again, careful but with a spark of something in them. Chris shoots him a grin. "Well, yes, I am, but no. Not when there's a gun on me and a goon beating the shit out of you." He snorts. "Clooney's not even that good."

"Oh. So…" Zach has that look on his face, like he's thinking deep thoughts and about to come up with something profound that will blow everybody's mind, even as he says it softly and humbly.

This is not the time for deep thoughts, though. Now's the time to put up or shut up.

 _Yeah_ , Chris thinks. "Yeah." And he lifts his left hand, heedless of the IV, and cups the back of Zach's neck, bringing him down in close. He knows his lips are chapped to hell and his breath is probably akin to that of a zombie, but he'll make up for it later.

Zach makes a noise in his throat, but his lips press back into Chris's and it's good enough to be promising, and Chris makes his own noise before going back for more.

Well, attempting. Zach pulls back, though. "Hospital. Public. _Shot_ ," he rasps.

"Hey," Chris says, smiling and refusing to remove his hand, "I'm destitute because of you. The least you could do is put out."

"You're not destitute. Your PA is smarter than you are about that sort of thing and you know it."

The look on his face is put-upon, holier-than-thou, Christopher-Whitelaw-you're-an-idiot, and Chris hopes he finally gets what that means.

"Plus, you smell."

But his fingers haven't left Chris's wrist, and Chris is pretty fucking sure he does.

 _  
**fin**   
_


End file.
